


Calling Your Name Is All I Need to Make Our Bonds Everlasting

by Saki (Albione)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Timmy all alone, gets better, quarantine fic, sexy selfies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albione/pseuds/Saki
Summary: Timmy is alone in LA, Armie could not reach him as planned.A sad and alone Timmy needs to re-connect to Armie.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	Calling Your Name Is All I Need to Make Our Bonds Everlasting

**Author's Note:**

> This is my meagre attempt of a quarantine fic. All angst is resolved. I needed to get back to writing, it has been too long.  
> The title is taken from the Violet Evergarden movie I just saw. When I heard the words it just screamed charmie to me…  
> As usual, I do not know them, they (thankfully) do not know me, and all this is the result of my imagination...

“Time isn’t real”  
Send and sit back.  
But time is real, seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years add their weight of wasted opportunities. Things not said.

Timmy dropped his phone and flopped back onto the couch. He didn't feel like watching the Twitter frenzy he had caused.

He missed New York, he missed his family and friends. He missed his life.  
But when he left London he was sure that he had made the right decision, Armie was driving back to LA, they would meet and be able to see each other.  
Now he was quarantined in a large (too large for one person) condo and Armie was in the Cayman islands. With his wife. “Ok, the kids too, don’t be bitter Timmy…”  
He bit his lower lip, tried to conjure that tight little smile, the one that never reached his eyes, but gave up.  
Why bother to fake it when you are alone?

“Sorry Tim, I have to go to her, she is losing it. I cannot leave the kids with her. Dad has asked for help…See you soon”  
Timmy kept looking at the last text he had received, but it was always the same message, it never changed.  
As much as he tried, the “go to her” never morphed into “See you tomorrow” as he was expecting.

He had been hurt, he had just landed in a city that wasn't his, he had run to join him and was left stranded.  
Yes, he could have gone back to New York, but he had still hoped that Armie would join him. Hoped till the flights had been grounded. Blocked in LA with his mother urging him to stay put and not to travel.

He had food, his assistants had made sure of that, his gran was ok with his mother, away from the centre of New York. All his friends facetimed him, in the horror everything was fine. He was lucky, but still sad.

All his projects were up in the air, being alone while working was what he was used to, but just being in one place without slipping into someone else was something he had nether had to deal with. And he wasn't doing too well.

He had never replied to Armie, he had nothing to say. He was afraid of being angry, bitter.  
Of showing him how lonely he was. Pathetic.

And Crema, the news from Crema was just unbearable. He felt ash falling over dear memories, clouding happy times.

He wasn't sure what time it was, morning or afternoon, dawn or sunset. He couldn't be bothered to look at the time. Time isn’t real.  
He picked up the controller wondering if he felt like virtually killing scores of people. It was a lovely purple colour, it reminded him of Berlin, the suede coat, Armie…

“I wonder if I can decorate it? Would peaches look good on the purple?” He grinned and put the controller down.  
He was restless, and, without thinking, his right hand moved under the elastic of his sweatpants and started stroking his cock. He lifted his feet onto the coffee table and opened his legs wide. His movements became faster, his long fingers quickly moving, pressing, pulling; his breath became ragged and his feet twiched.  
With a grunt he arched his back and felt his hand fill with a sticky mess. He slumped and cleaned his hand on his pants. He was painfully aware of the name he was about to call into the large room.

“Need to do a laundry…” He pulled the pants off and stood up, naked from the waist down.  
He walked to the bedroom and picked up a pair of boxers on the floor; he sniffed them and dropped them quickly.  
Opening the wardrobe he looked at his reflection in the mirror; flushed, hair wild, curls in every direction. He went to get his phone and bit his lower lip till he got the right plumpness and colour. He took a selfie.

Back in the bedroom he took off his hoodie and stood naked looking at his reflection. Pale and skinny, patches of dark wiry hair.  
He knew his body, he discovered it through Armie’s fingers. Each mole had been counted, each inch of skin kissed or bitten; he could feel warmth slowly growing as his mind thought of those large hands, the blonde hairs and blunt nails.  
The feeling of sucking the fingers, his tongue around them, his teeth pressing down on the knuckles. 

He turned and took a photo of the reflection of his back, his buttocks small but so welcoming.  
“You are horny and lonely Tim, a bad combination…”  
The sound of his own voice almost startled him. 

He jumped onto the bed and pulled the covers over himself. He still was not sure what time it was.  
“What did it say in the book? This morning was a year ago, yesterday ten years?”  
He didn't feel like looking it up, actually, the less he thought of the book, the movie and all the rest, the better.

He looked at his messages, all the usual, Pauline being upbeat, Giullian sending photos of the cat, Will moody photos of trees and mom asking if he was eating.  
The last text from Armie: “Dad has asked for help… see you soon”

When is soon if time isn't real? 

Without thinking he replied with the selfie he just took and wrote “Armie”. He wasn't drunk, so the naked one was still safely in his phone.  
He could imagine the photo dissolving into bytes, and each impulse moving along invisible routes to an island and slowly re-assembling into Armie’s phone.  
The thought comforted him and he fell asleep.

He woke up, the room was dark, he wasn't sure where he was; the remnants of a dream fading. The phone had lit up, it might have been what woke him.  
There was a new message from Armie. A video.

Armie’s face filled the screen, his eyes so blue they seemed fake looking at him earnestly.  
“Tim” was the only thing he said. Low, as you whisper a prayer, a slight tone of desperation as though you are afraid of losing a grace you have miraculously received.

Timmy smiled. Tomorrow, or today, he would send the naked photo.  
He looked at the ceiling and shouted “Armie” knowing he had been heard. He always would be heard.


End file.
